


A Dark and Stormy Night

by clandestineClairvoyant



Series: Misdirection-verse (Or the great Harry Dresden stress relief adventure) [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clandestineClairvoyant/pseuds/clandestineClairvoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There is nothing worse than good magic at the wrong time.” </p>
<p>-David Roth </p>
<p> </p>
<p> Dorian, Cole, Sera, and the Iron Bull all end up in Chicago, under the exhausted and overly caffeinated eye of one Harry Dresden. Sadly, that's only the beginning of his problems.</p>
<p> Mobsters, faeries, and more dungeons and dragons than Harry ever wanted, and portals that are dropping monsters and mayhem all over his city. What's a detective to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rain pattered down on a Chicago city street.

The wind gusted through the buildings, plucking at the few monday night commuters black umbrellas, streetlights and neon glinting off of their slick surfaces. Most people had their heads down, minds already on the hot baths, warm pets, and dinner heating on the stove. Or perhaps what ingredients they have at home, and what they’d make with some last minute assemblage.

 

As a result, the flashing green lights- and sound like a lightning bolt striking a television receptor backwards- went almost completely unnoticed. Except for one cat; who arched it’s back and yowled tremendously, before clattering off of the lid of a tin trashcan and setting off a chain reaction of swearing, shouting, and dogs barking in the apartment buildings neighboring the alleyway.

Also missed was the four figures that tumbled out onto the pavement, mud splattering from the few puddles collected there, and a pile of refuse shifting dangerously as Cole did an impressive somersault, one of his legs banging into a bicycles missing a wheel. Bull almost landed on top of Sera, but the elf, seeing the danger, rolled out of the way with a yelp. His horn only clipped her, drawing blood across her shoulder and an indignant swear.

 

Dorian landed on the hood of a car parked illegally and for a very long time behind the buildings, his staff clattering out of his hand and rolling to a stop somewhere by where Cole was blinking in puzzlement, upside down and hat still miraculously stuck to his head.

The car immediately started blaring, headlights flashing, and alarms going off like all the demons of the Fade come to rip out their innards.

As the rip in the air that had been making underwater vacuum noises snapped shut, the green glow disappearing from the alleyway, Dorian gave a startled yelp, rallied off of the car, and scooped up his staff.

 

The red and purple glowing of an electrical inferno also went unnoticed, as Dorian reduced the whole front half of the toyota corolla to a blackened, molten slag; Most of the people in surrounding buildings simply drew their curtains shut tighter against the intrusion of the night rather than lean their heads out to see what all the fuss was about.

Bull grimaced at the smell, sitting fully up and groaning, soaked wet already and with grit and oily residue from the alley clinging all down his front where he’d landed. Sera didn’t look much better, picking things out of the rip in her knee, a small amount of abraded skin and blood showing as she stuck out a tongue in annoyance, ears flicking. Her formerly motley outfit was dingy with mud, as well as the soot and smoke of whatever transferral the portal used to bring them here.

Bull got all the way up and wandered over to turn Cole back right side up, ignoring the light show as the giant… Metal… _thing_ blazed merrily, the stink of it oily and sick smelling. 

Dorian- now calmed after the noise had petered out to a whine, before going out entirely- circled the thing, his formerly white robes entirely ruined, and his hair drooping. His eyes were bright with a sort of desperate panic, same as the rest of them, but Bull also noted there was a small amount of curiosity there as it became clearer and clearer that they were no longer in the Thedas they knew.

_At least someone’ll have a good day._ He thought glumly.

 

“It only wanted to be forgotten, but it had secrets inside that wanted to be out. Now they’re in the sky, and no one will know how he kept her things, even when she hurt him with words.” Cole told him gravely, and Bull tried not to shudder at the creepy reflection of the fire in Coles wide, lamp like eyes.

 

“Yeah, that’s… Great kid. Up you go.”

 

“What’s this thing then. Magic thingamabob?” Sera asked Dorian after he’d circled the thing a few times, his fingers on his chin and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Did it bring us here? Can we smash it?” She perked up eagerly, eyeing the metal thing with new interest. As the rain came down the fire had gone out, leaving it sizzling slightly and streaming a gritty black residue onto the ground.

“Well, considering there appears to be about a dozen more over that way, I see no reason why we should start.” Dorian said calmly, and Sera gave an alarmed glance towards the end of the alley, where she could see the glint of moving lights and the occasional honking, like an enormous angry bird. “How about you consider for a moment leaving me to _think_ , and I will see if I can find a way out of this situation? That probably involves rather more magic than is your _expertise._ ”

“Of course _magic_ did this.” She sneered, turning and spitting off to the side derisively. “And I suppose magic made this piece of shite as well?” She aimed a kick at the metal thing, barely batting an eye at the stubbed toes.  
  
“Of course I am _assuming_ that it’s made with magic you dolt, but am perfectly willing to be convinced otherwise.” Dorian argued, with Sera prowling unnervingly close to his personal space. His voice was almost silenced by the soft susurrus of rain on the pavement, and the hissing _shush_ of more the large, monstrous things moving out of his field of vision, outside the opening of the alley.

 

There was blessed silence for a while, as Cole huddled miserably under the wings of Bull’s side like a soggy duckling, hat dripping onto the pavement and watching Dorian mutter to himself and pace around the thing; Occasionally stooping to inspect the alley floor, before wandering to the entrance of the alley to stare out.

Bull remained back, patting the kid comfortingly on the shoulder as he watched the mage work. He trusted Dorian to at least figure out how they got here, if not get them home. He was a smart guy, not just a pretty face.

Sera, not so trusting, paced as much as Dorian did, occasionally kicking garbage, or more occasionally, bringing Bull some object she’d found, and shaking her head in angry bemusement. A sock, almost black with dirt and patched with holes. It had prints of tiny stars on a pink background. A small semi-opaque brush, with sparkles in the hard handle. A cracked transparent shel the size of a pluml, that had a minute figure inside made of the same hard chitin that seemed to be a consistent thing in this world. It was holding a tiny whip and stool.

 

So, if this was a Fade dream (which Bull doubted. Qunari didn’t hold much truck with this Fade nonsense), then it was a detailed one. But Bull was finding it more likely that they’d either been transported to some future, farther along than Dorian could ever have dreamed in his Time studies; Or they were dead. But qunari also didn’t truck much with the afterlife either, so.

 

“We’re not dead, The Iron Bull. We’re lost, I told you.” Cole told him matter of factly, before sneezing. He looked surprised at the sound, and Bull shook his head and pulled the kid more firmly to his side where it was warm. (Cole had scared the shit out of him at first, creepy and silent and easily forgotten. But since _both_ of them had been through some changes, he'd found himself doting on the little skinny guy almost as much as Cooper did. Made him feel like the worlds shittiest Tamrassan.)

 

Dorian was busy trying to make sense of this whole fiasco. Slowly, methodically. They’d been going through a venatori dungeon, Cooper wander ahead of them with his dark Templar mail gleaming in the dim torchlight, the glow of his Mark temporarily hidden by his spiked gauntlet, when there’d been a noise like a wall caving in, and Cooper had turned, eyes brightened in surprise and mouth open as if to shout out a warning.

Next thing he knew, Dorian had been yanked off of his feet and thrown onto the ground- Only the ground wasn’t the ground of the venatori hideout, dusty with disuse and probably lousy with beetles, if Dorian knew the Hissing Wastes at all. It was the hard, flat, strange rock of _this_ place.

 

And he didn’t know how it happened or how to get home.

 

So for want of a better thing to do, he inspected the thing that had made such a racket when he’d fallen on it. Gave him quite the scare. 

_’Cooper’s probably on his way now, the big useless brute_. Dorian told himself, quelling the panic he could feel in his chest. _’Of course he’s useless by himself. I hope he thinks to go get Vivienne, or- Eugh. Solas.’_

Their Inquisitor, while quite the warrior with a fervor for smiting demons and dark magic wherever he went, was quite useless without a strong hand to guide him, like any well-meaning Templar. Dorian didn't know what it was about the young man that caused Vivienne and Solas' hackles to rise, but in Tevinter Templars were about as harmless as any other Soporati. And he’d think Bull to stop snickering _quite_ so loudly when the Inquisitor turned those big, brown eyes to Dorian for guidance any time they were faced with some sort of moral quandary.

But that was for later. When Trevelyan swooped in like one of Andraste’s angels to give them a wet, betrayed look, as if blaming _Dorian_ for disappearing into thin air.

 

The metal wagons, for Dorian was sure that was what they were for, were large, and gleaming, made of an expertly forged metal that Dorian assumed must be mass produced _somewhere_ , by some very bored dwarves on some very interesting mushrooms. They were almost like wagons, although they were all covered, and the wheels far too small and it moved much too fast- So not much like wagons at all.

 

“Everything in this shite place is probably magic- if I open that door, betcha a sovereign a demon’ll jump out and gobble your twiddly bits faster than you can say _orlesian silk._ ’ Sera muttered sullenly, her mocking of his accent eerily accurate and annoying, glowering from her position leaning against a red mortar and brick building that made up half of their alley. The other half was taken up by what appeared to be cheap metal walls that rang hollowly when he knocked his staff against them, large slick shiny bags piled in stinking piles against the side in what Dorian assumed to be a refuse pile. Lovely.

The rest of the alley was taken up by the Iron Bull, who was hunkered in on himself and trying to look small. Impossible in such small confines, but it did cheer Dorian up to see him trying. Like Sera trying to recite Antivan love poetry.  
Cole had disappeared from his side, likely over whelmed by the noise of the thunder and the metal things racket. For all that he could be a vicious, merciless killer, their Cole was quite delicate when it came to loud noises, Dorian remembered, and didn’t worry too much about where he’d gotten off to.

 

He was assuming it was some sort of Fade realm, at least. Outside the one they knew of as ‘reality’. Possibly a dream dimension that had unnerving clarity.

But as Dorian swiped his wet hair off of his forehead and glared at the dark, starless sky lit by the _unnatural_ amount of lights in this city, he found himself dread to think of the slumbering creature that would think of this stinking, wet, miserable place so full of noise and people. It reminded him of what Tevinter was like in the late autumn; with the cold windy storms and the howl of wind very different from the hot, steamy deluges that overtook them in the height of summer. But only what Tevinter might be like in a few hundred years, if it’s people turned insectlike and cold, and stopped using magic. They were at heart a dark, practical people under all of their color and show.

 

Dorian was simply stumped as to how the things he could hear and see smoldering in front of him could possibly be moving without any kind of propulsion, however.

Some mechanical means, obviously, as he had simply melted half the front of the thing to twist it open and up like cheap armor, revealing the complicated and twiddly bits inside. Mostly wires and oil slick metal, with some odd, hard material almost like ice. Softer than metal, but like no sort of rock he’d ever come across when he scraped a nail across it. Probably something specific to this realm, like lyrium was to the Fade, leakages not withstanding.

“Probably some sort of alchemy. Chemicals and such.” He finally settled on, leaving the blighted thing alone and glaring at it miserably. “I could’t tell you the first thing to get it working, and even if I could, I have no idea how to operate the blasted thing.”

“Bet I could.” Sera said, her brows drawn down in an irritated grimace. Her ears were drastically pointed down, the almost feline cast to her features pinched in irritation. Dorian hated that look- That generally meant misery for someone else. Most often, him, who gave the best reactions despite his own knowing better, and Cole. Who was about as likely to defend himself as melting butter. (He remembered Cole again, and cast a worried thought and glance around, before he was distracted by the distant screech of tires.)

“Possibly the last thing I want, besides a dragon with designs towards removing my head from my body via powerful fiery means, would be you inside one of these murderous death traps.”

 

Sera blew a raspberry at him.

 

The ensuing argument was interrupted- as Dorian felt a hot prickle of annoyance in his cheeks and opened his mouth to retort- when there was a loud crack of thunder that had all three of them jumping. Sera gave a small shriek.

 

“The thunder doesn’t understand it’s lost.” Cole said sadly, from right by Dorian’s elbow, and Dorian decided if _anyone_ , ( _Bull_ ), tried to point it out, he’d insist that the _slightly_ girly scream of fear had indeed, also came from Sera.

Cole stared at him with wide, startled eyes and the most panicked look Dorian had ever seen on the lads face. He normally had a bit of a droop to him, but with the rain sticking his clothes to his scarecrow frame, and a bit of grit and dirt on the knees of his leathers and stuck to his cheek where he’d swiped at it with grimy hands, he looked downright pathetic.

 

Dorian felt himself thaw a little bit, and sighed loudly, patting the spirit on the arm.

 

“It’s alright, it may be lost, but _we’re_ not. I’ll have us home in two shakes of a nug nose.” Bull snorted slightly, some water spraying from his face, but Cole’s shy smile at the mention of his favorite creature made it worth some petty amusement at the brutes sake.

“Yeah smarty? And how’re you gonna do that?” Sera spit contemptuously off to the side, stomping around like a cat stuck on the end of a lead. Clearly not willing to be here. “ Slice some poor sod’s neck open? Maybe rip out the hearts of some puppies?”

“Dorian wouldn’t do that!” Cole protested loudly. Dorian felt a brief surge of affection. “He doesn’t like dogs.“ 

Ah.

“Yes. Thank you Cole.” Dorian puts a finger to his brow, as Bull finally gave up on waiting for them to finish squabbling, getting up from where he’d sat down on a crate and stretching, slow as an earthquake. The rain sheeted off of his shoulders, turning pink where his side had been gashed open by a venatori stave.

“Well, since no one has a plan-“ Dorian made a noise of protest, which Bull cheerfully ignored, as always. “I’m going to go ahead and veto any use of magic to solve this problem, until we know where we are. There could still be Templars here. Or demons.” Dorian snorted, but didn’t say anything. The mercenary was probably right. “Let’s see what we find, and then we’ll decide how to go about getting home.”

 

As the rest nodded in agreement- even Sera giving in to the more experienced Iron Bull in a situation requiring tactics, Cole like a bobble head- a soft voice hissed from the shadows. A slow laugh, that seemed to start somewhere in the same timbre as the rain hitting the asphalt, and rose until it cackled like someone stepping on and breaking bones brittle and dry.

 

Cole made a small noise like he’d been goosed, startled as he jerked away from the shadows, which seemed to be moving. Dorian and him both retreated from where they’d been standing as Bull put in hardly any effort at all, lifting his humongous axe and stepping in between Dorian and whatever was currently stalking forward with all the languorousness of a snake.

 

Cole could disappear at leisure, and Sera was already halfway up the intricate metal staircase clinging to the side of the red stone building next to them, wary as a cat and arrow knocked. It was Dorian Bull worried about- The one most susceptible to demons. And also sharp pointy things.

 

“Lost?” The voice said, for a moment indiscernible from the sound of the laughter, as breathy and amused sounding as the word was. “You do not know where you are,it seems.” Came the voice, smooth as a cats purr, accompanied by two yellow green glows in the dark about the height for eyes.

 

Bull growled warningly, as feet like velvet padded back and forth in the shadows, the eyes blinking slowly and lazily as it looked from each of them to the next. “The wizard is a familiar one- You smell… _Enticing._ The last wizard to get away from me didn’t do it for long, and he suffered for it- I can tell you this.” The voice said carelessly, and Dorian got a distinctly feline impression from this creature, despite the unnatural thickness of the shadows and oddly large height of the eyes.

“And tiny fae creature- Not a hint of magic to you. Some sort of changeling, perhaps? Who was your mother, oh high one? Summer? Winter? You seem of a… Wylde sort.” The gaze turned to Sera, who simply made a vulgar noise and let the arrow loose, instantly nocking another before the other had hardly hit.

The eyes simply winked out for a moment as the arrow seemed to glint briefly, and bury itself in the shadows somewhere in between the yellow glints of it’s eyes.

 

The eyes reopened as if they’d merely blinked, a low chuckle like gravel causing Sera’s hair to stand on end. “I don’t know what you’re calling me, but there innit _nobody_ , who calls me that. Whatever it is.” She grumbled irritably, already cataloguing the weapons she had on her and debating the pros and cons of testing each one. Starting with her jar of spiciness, that felt warm in her pack. Suck on _that_ , creepy.

“Ah, simply musing out loud. Perhaps there’s room in our court for one more?”

“Sera? In any kind of court?” Dorian let out a snort of laughter that sounded down right _soggy._ Slightly in panic and bewilderment, mostly due to the rain that seemed to be as otherworldly and shitty as everything else happening right now. “Now I know we’re in some sort of fever dream.”

“You can simply pretend, if you like. Most of you do.” The thing commented, and Dorian fought a shudder.

“No thank you. Good bye, have a nice evening.” He didn’t know why Bull hadn’t smashed… Whatever it was. He thought maybe it was some sort of demon, although most demons shaped themselves after creatures of the world they were in. He didn’t care to think if that rule applies here, wherever they were.

“And who are you? Our welcome party?” Bull finally asked, sounding amused. But Dorian didn’t miss the way Bull’s knuckles were white on the haft of his axe, the way the raindrops danced across the taut skin of his tensed shoulders.

“In a sense. I’m here to offer you guidance. I can see you’re lost- You came here through the tear, did you not?” Dorian tried to hide it as he stiffened in surprise. Not a good sign, if there was already magical creatures honing in on their entrance. The amount of energy it took to open a Rift is immense, and it’s no wonder it had flashed a beacon for Maker knows what to come and find them.

Might as well have rung a dinner bell.

 

“What if we did?” Sera demanded, chin jutting out. “That a problem?”

 

“The exact opposite of a problem, small high one.” Purred the voice, and Dorian heard the wind increase, a sudden chill cutting through the alley like the breath of winter itself. The noise of the speeding road close to them seemed to grow quieter, as if far away, and if he wasn’t so terrified that he’d walk right out of whatever dream bubble they may be in, he’d have grabbed whoever he could (probably Cole. Sera bites, and Bull is un _moveable_ ), and started running, and not stopped until he’d hit sunshine.

He shivered irritably, unsure if this is a normal weather phenomenon for this realm, or perhaps something more sinister.

His question was answered as Cole suddenly spoke up, his voice a harsh whisper. “The cold is biting, but it doesn’t know how to be gentle. Biting is all it knows.” It sounded accusatory, and the creature gave a monstrous chirrup of interest in Cole as the wind picked up, Dorian shivering and moving closer to Bull’s warm back.

“And what, in the Dark Queens name,” The eyes flashed, and a low grumble like a growl seemed to vibrate their bones. “Is _this_.”

“I’m Cole.” Offered Cole, in a queer mixture of quiet offense and sullen defiance, glaring at the yellow eyes. “And you are _not_ welcome.” There was a flash as Cole drew his daggers, and to Dorians surprise the lad prowled forward, circling the thing like a cat that had found a scorpion.

Wary, but deadly interested. “You hurt and bite, but we bite too.” He even bared his teeth as he said it, and the voice laughed in delight, like he’d found a particularly charming puppy. Although Dorian didn’t miss how it carefully crept to the other side of the alley in a blur of darkness, keeping the rest of them in between Cole and itself. Unsure, probably.

Cole _was_ one of a kind. And he didn’t seem to much care for whatever type of creature this was that tormented them, and turned the air so bitter cold.

 

Coming from Cole, he might as well have spit on the creature.

 

Dorian didn't think he’d ever seen Cole get like this. Yes, he got darkly intent when in battle. But it’s almost like he was a falcon, all predatory intent and guileless viciousness.He’ll eviscerate a red templar one minute, the glow of the sick red lyrium cracking through their skin painting the innards that spilled out a nightmarish black- And the next be looking up at the Inquisitor with his head cocked so slightly, asking if he could simply _take_ the baby rabbits home, since they _had_ to eat their mother for supper. Can’t you see they’re helpless?

 

The wind picked up, and this time Dorian saw Cole begin to shiver, shoulders jumping up as if startled, although his eyes never left his target, singularly focused. Dorian didn’t blame him for being startled. They’d tromped all over Emprise du Leon with nary a sniffle from their resident spirit, who enjoyed the feel of snow on his- Well. Everything. Perhaps this was some sort of clue, if the weather was affecting a spirit like Cole.

“Stop _biting._ ” He threatened hoarsely, almost petulantly and shifted his grip on his daggers.

Sera dropped from stairs like a dead leaf, shaking and toes pink where they were bare in her gladiator style leggings. “Stop with that- magic _bullshit_ or I light you up like a chantry in the Kolcari Wilds.” She threatened, hefting a small glittering jar that Dorian recognized. He took a large, pertinent step backwards, in care of his eyebrows.

The voice simply laughed, and Sera, apparently losing her patience, winged it into the shadows and moved away at the same time, nimble as a squirrel.

As the thing blinked away from the sudden erupting blaze, Dorian caught a glimpse of marbled gray fur and long, feline limbs perhaps twice or thrice bigger than any wildcat he’d ever seen, and _stretched_ , as if it was something someone dreamed of. It’s eyes glowed yellow, and Dorian threw a hand out as it streaked towards the other shadows, the cold starting to tingle his fingers and steal the feeling from his nose and ears. Cole swiped at it silently, fiercely intent, but it flowed like water away from the blades, and turned to catch him with claws like knives, red flashing as he slices Cole’s leg from knee to ankle.

The ripple of force magic Dorian threw out caught it on it’s haunches, and it turned suddenly and unexpectedly, streaking towards Dorian and now he _knew_ it was a demon, because the surge of fear he felt as those yellow eyes bored into his and went right for his throat, teeth bared in a primal nightmare smile, was nothing short of supernatural-

 

Bull’s axe came down, right on the things tail, and the worlds exploded into howling, screaming white.

 

######


	2. Chapter 2

I didn’t often take police cases.

 

I mean, there’d been a real uptick in recent months, what with the evil warlock, and then with the FBI agents-cum-werewolves. But honest, the times before that where Murphy had felt the need to call me in, besides to laugh at me, I could count on one hand.

 

Starts to make a guy feel real special, when he’s in demand like this.

 

I pulled up in the Beetle, muffler rattling winsomely and mis-matched paint job dirty under the Chicago street mud. The few cops on duty nodded to me, bundled in their early winter coats with the iconic white lettering on the arm, and looking like a flock of particularly irritable pigeons all gathered around the front of the cordoned off alleyway. Breath fogged up from their mouths to wreath their heads, the area around this square block particularly cold even for a late autumn day.

I made a note of it as interesting, although not particularly attention grabbing until Murph told me what she'd brought me here for.

Yellow crisscrossing tape marked where the alley began, although judging by the tense way the cops were standing- still alert after so many hours standing in the early morning- whatever I was going to see was going to be enough to wake me up at least, lack of coffee be damned. There wasn't the pale, drawn tightness on their faces of a murder, so that was good. Just a spooked alertness that belied years on the force, as well as the resignation that came with being in Special Investigations.

I unfolded myself from the car, long coat providing a comfortable break in the snappy Chicago breeze, and also doing the double favor of flaring my coat ever so slightly dramatically in the gray gloom as I approached the crime scene. It was Tuesday, around eight in the morning, and I was already irritable about being woken an hour ago by my phone ringing off the hook. A noise complaint gone pretty sour, by the sound of Murphy’s cursing and weary sigh. I'd barely had time to dress, hair still flattened partially on one side and jaw cracking wide in a yawn.

She'd given me an address toward the dock side of town, not quite in Marcone’s territory. Arguably _every_ part of Chicago was part of Marcone’s territory, but for now, the large supernatural population in the Undertown kept his control from being complete, and this was firmly part of Winter's turf. If the chill wind that bit into my exposed wrists didn't tell me that, the cases I'd taken in the surrounding area would have.

Although, the nereids _were_ warming up to Marcone's gifts, last I heard.

A common entry point into and out of the Winter portion of the Never Never was close by, and I couldn’t _wait_ to see how Marcone dealt with _that_. Whether he'd done it on purpose or not I had no idea, but I lived for the phone call I'd get from him, when he bit off more than his scummy ass could chew and I could cheerfully tell him to go fuck himself when he asked me for my help. Whether Marcon's eating up territory had any bearing on the reason I was being called was yet to be seen. Still, Murphy had _something_ on her hands, and in an area of high magical traffic like this it could be a doozy.

 

There was a lone figure standing in the middle of the alley as I ducked under the tape, trying not to trip. She was wearing a dark navy windbreaker, and blonde curls drawn in a ponytail through her hat. Short, more than a foot shorter than me, although I _was_ unusually tall. Freakishly, some might say, but I insist it’s only the makings of a good wizard. Like Gandalf.

Or Dumbledore.

Or that old geezer from the Mickey mouse short.

She was also holding a cup of coffee, with my name _metaphorically_ written on it, and a dark scowl. Although short, her body was a study in alert tension, chin high and shoulders square. Murphy always held herself like someone who was born to bust heads and take names, cute little nose and cornflower blue eyes be damned.

 

“Harry.” She said shortly as I ambled up, toeing around the worst of the evidence best as I can. There seemed to be… A lot of it. Splattered around.

 

“Murphy.”

 

There was a few beats of tense silence, before Murphy sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Then she forked over the coffee, steaming and piping hot.  
I made a greedy sound of satisfaction, cupping my hands around it and inhaling. Sweet nirvana.

 

The wind was biting, a cold front moving in so suddenly and prematurely for the October season, that it had frozen some people’s tires where they’d been parked in the gutter. I’d taken two steps outside after being called by Murphy, turned back on heel, and walked right back in.

When I’d finally showed up, it was in two flannel shirts, an ugly blood drive donation sweater, two pairs of socks in my cowboy boots, and my leather duster. While fashionable, it didn’t cut the cold so much as simply the wind, and I shivered miserably as I nursed my coffee.

 

“There’s donuts in it too if you find out the source of this…” Murphy curled her cute little nose delicately, and I blinked serenely as I inhaled gulps of piping hot liquid, almost burning my throat. “Noise complaint.”

 

Noise complaint indeed.

 

I took in the state of the alley, currently cordoned off by CAUTION tape in bright yellow, and crawling with the remains of Murphy’s division. A simple noise complaint normally wouldn’t draw the attention of the Special Investigations- That’s more grunt work for the Chicago PD.

 

This was an interesting case.

 

The whole alley was _trashed_. And not in the sense of it was full of garbage bags and dumpsters- Which it was.

Huge chunks of masonry had been blown or knocked out of the walls, and the fire escape to the residential building on the right had been reduced to a twisted abstract art sculpture. One of the dumpsters had a huge dent in it, as if a car had hit it going high speeds, judging by the shape and size. But the only car here was a little toyota corolla with an incredible amount of parking tickets in the front window, and the front end entirely sheared off and melted like a giants fist had come down and smashed it.

And that wasn’t to mention the blood. A few spatters here and there, which I stepped carefully over in my boots, crouching down to eye the angles, as well as inspect the shattered remains of glass. When I picked it up and sniffed it carefully, it smelled sharp and decidedly explosive. Which matched the scorch marks I saw in explosive patterns along the far warehouse wall.It wasn’t a flash grenade, but some sort of arts and crafts equivalent. A molotov of some kind, the chemical unidentifiable at a casual sniff. Accelerant for sure, and not alchohol.

Someone had been in this alley, and they’d been armed for bear when they’d been jumped. And judging by the amount of melted snow and ice soaking into the trash, filling the cab of the ruined car, and location, I had a sneaking suspicious where to turn my attention.

 

The Winter Court. Whoever they'd tussled with had put up a hell of a fight.

 

“Get any eye witness reports?” I asked, bending down at a pile of trash. I poked my staff in. Professionally.

“Only one woman who reported seeing a woman leave the alley, about five foot, blonde hair. She was carrying something in her hand that looked like a stick, or a stave. Possibly a bow. She headed east, and then our witness kept making their tea.” Murphy’s scowl deepened, as if personally offended by the lack of nosiness on part of our fellow citizens.

“There was a hell of a lot more than one woman in this alley.” I hazarded, and made a sound of triumph as my staff found something interesting.

“What’d you find? Your sense of humor?”

“Ha. Ha. _No._ Possible weapon.” I shook out a handkerchief as Murphy leaned over in interest, using my shoulder as a rest. Ignoring the extra weight, I carefully grasped the handle of the knife I found, drawing it out and holding it up to the light. Murphs breath caught slightly.

It was a vicious looking thing, with a dark green shimmery material making up the metal of the blade, unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and a wire wrapped handle topped with a bird skull and bits of feathers. One single jingle bell rung on it sadly. It was a bout a foot long, more of a dueling dagger if I’d ever seen one than a casual hunting knife. A careful scrape with my penknife brought blackened flakes of blood off of the metal. _Someone_ had been on the wrong end of it.

It looked deadly. There wasn't much of a magical signature on it, but something about it set my teeth humming, so I gave Murphy a meaningful look.

Murphy brought up an evidence bag, which I dropped the brutal looking thing in, shaking my head and tucking my kerchief back into my duster pocket. “What are you thinking?” She asked solemnly, handing me the bag back, with barely a glance at the rest of her division. They knew they couldn’t do much about this kind of magical throw down.

 

“I’m thinking I’m going on a scavenger hunt.” I said, pulling out a small pocket knife.

Murphy rolled her eyes, but obligingly backed away to give me room to work, arms crossed.

 

Now, magic is pretty straightforward when you get down to it.

There’s no waving of arms. No rabbits coming out of hats, unless you’re really behind on your spring cleaning. No dark spirits. (Bob doesn’t count. He’s more like a dirty limerick, than a dark evil force.)

I simply crouched down, knees popping in combination of falling asleep on the couch again, as well as the cold biting through my leather duster. I fished a piece of chalk out of my pocket, drawing a slightly wobbly circle while juggling my coffee as well as the penknife with the blood on it.

Once I had the circle, I took a couple of bracing sips of coffee, ignoring Murphy’s almost palpable impatience behind me, and set it down, drawing out a crystal on a string from another one of my pockets.

I have a lot of pockets.

And this spell in particular is one of my specialties- Finding things and people is what makes my job as a private investigator easy. Whether it’s an innate talent, or something I’ve become good at simply through long practice and utility, I’m not sure. All I know is the minute I carefully placed the flake of blood onto the crystal, tongue between my teeth, and fed a little bit of magic into the circle with an effort, I got an immediate tug.

The string tilted at a drastic angle, almost horizontal, and I heard a small noise from Murphy- A familiar, very comforting noise, of her snapping the strap off of her holster and drawing her gun, casually leaving it down by her leg.

“Close?” She asked, and I looked back to see a glimpse of her eyes narrowed into slits of blue, carefully scanning the alley. Despite the fact that the whole entirety of the SI had been over this alley for a good six or so hours since the noise complaint, it’s not entirely out of the question that they could have missed a body. And judging from the amount of blood on the ground, a body was probably what I was looking for, if the blood was fresh enough.

 

“Maybe. Stay sharp.”

 

Murph drew up by my side as I picked my way through the crime scene, avoiding those little yellow signs that peppered it, my boots crunching on bits of ice. There were a few less scorch marks, but also a slightly heavier feel in the air, the buzz grinding against my teeth. It wasn’t often I was _second_ on the scene after a magical throw down- It’s much more my style to wade in hip-deep, both guns blazing so to speak. But even I could recognize that there was some strong Winter influence thrown around, an almost dark miasma, that I was unfortunately familiar with from suffering the good graces of my fairy god mother, Leah.

 

This was different, but close. The same ilk I would say.

 

The other signature was un-familiar, which was slightly surprising. I couldn’t know _every_ practitioner in town, but I liked to think I knew all of the magical users capable of this kind of strength. Cars turned to slag from what appeared to be nothing but lightning bolts. Holding your own against a creature of the Fae. And what felt like the nasty remains of a fear spell, that was probably next to useless against a fairy creature. These were all White Council level gimmicks, and the fact that it was a stranger was worrying. A new player in the game always was.

 

The crystal led us to the back of the warehouse, where moldering shipping crates were stacked, still bearing some sort of computer company logo. Rats scattered at our approach, water lapping gently in the distance behind us where the ships used to come up the river by the dozens. A lot of warehouses opened up in the back like this, to save transport costs. They’re usually covered in forklifts and workers, cranes working to move the heavy crates off of the deck of a ship, and into larger storage units, which are stacked like building blocks inside the warehouse. A few were even still scattered around the yard, rusted shut even if some of the cheap metal clasps had fallen off.

Today it was silent, the dock chained off with rusted padlocks, and the entrance on the chain link fence barricaded by moldering refuse, and the usual detritus that builds up after years of abandonment. I thought I could see a bike in there, one misshapen wheel spinning lazily and miraculously in the breeze. This place probably went out some time in the nineties, if my guess was right.

The tugging increased, and I raised an eyebrow at Murph, holding up a hand and making a gesture for silence, pointing at one of the shipping containers. She nodded, cocking her gun, and crossed my path to move to the other side, setting a shoulder, and ready to spin into a firing stance the moment I opened the container.

I tucked the crystal in my pocket, now useless with the end in sight. It gave me room to draw my .44 magnum.

Murphy rolled her eyes at me, and I gave a defensive sort of shrug. I’d lost the original to necromancers a year before- So sue me. If it ain’t broke, why fix it? And this puppy had enough kick to make even an ogre think twice.

I left it down, but raised a shield, unsure of whether I was going to find an angry agent of the winter court (unlikely), a dead body (more likely), or an angry probably necromancer with enough gumption to kick my ass right into the harbor. (Depressingly likely. And a common occurrence for me.)

 

Silently, I mouthed a one, a two, and at _three_ I grabbed the handle, and drew the door open with a scream of rusty hinges, morning sunlight streaming in to reveal-

 

Nothing. Except for the biggest fattest spider I’d ever seen in my life, magical monsters included, which scuttled away with alarming long legged speed at the intrusion. Yeugh.

 

“Nice work Sherlock.” Murphy commented drily, popping her head around and giving me a look of derision. “You caught the culprit. Now if only I’d bought three more sets of hand cuffs.”

I narrowed my eyes, surveying the container, shield still raised and casting a shimmery blue glow, ignoring Murphy’s ribbing. Easy to do, since I did it on a daily basis.

Something wasn’t right.

“Harry?” Murphy was looking out over the yard, mouth already downturned in a grimace as she considered her next move. Likely wondering whether to abandon this case as not worth the time, or one of those things with deeper implications that would come to bite her in the ass in a month or two.

 

I felt a tingle somewhere in my eyes that was familiar as I scanned the empty container. Almost unnoticeable- Indeed, it was _meant_ to be unnoticeable. Because what’s the point of a veil of invisibility, if someone knew you’re casting it?

 

I made my movements careful, stretching my senses out although I carefully kept my eyes from darting around like they wanted to. “I guess I must have messed up the spell.” I said with a sigh, holstering my gun, and rubbing the back of my head.

 

“Surprising.” Murphy pointed out, perhaps sensing something wasn’t quite right; And perhaps also sensing my game, as she didn’t quite put her gun away. But she also didn’t go demanding explanations, which I was grateful for. “And you’re normally so good at that.”

 

“Yeah. Must have been all the latent magical-“

 

All of a sudden Murphy spun around, foot lashing out and catching something in the air and knocking it flying with a small _oomph._

 

Holy shit.

 

I’d been planning to surprise whoever was hiding by ripping their veil down as soon as their focus wavered- Rude, but effective. Especially when you’re as bad with veils and fiddly magic as I am. But I guess I didn’t take into account Murphy’s freakish super senses.

The kid she hit went flying, hat rolling across the ground as he hit the door of the shipping container, which let out another shriek of rusted protest. Red dripped on the ground under his leg as it folded awkwardly underneath him, the smell of unwashed clothing, smoke, and the bright copper heat of fever much stronger now that I had a target to pin it to.

 

Immediately Murphy pointed her gun, perfect shooting position. “On the ground! Get on the ground and put your hands on your head- _Put the weapon down before I shoot you._ ” She broke off to bark, as the twin to the knife we found made an appearance like magic in the kids hand, sure grip and blade pointed like he knew how to use it. He looked maybe about nineteen or twenty, old enough to be broad shouldered and lanky, but probably not old enough to drink, all wide eyes the color of a snowed in pane of glass and pale hair. He looked like some kind of scarecrow, all patchwork leathers and spiky bits of armor that looked a little easier to move in than the stuff I’d seen on Michael, or on any of the big scary fae warriors that still stuck to the old fashioned gimmick stuff like that. Who in the hell even wore _armor_ anymore?

This kid apparently, as he shuffled backwards on his ass in the dirt, eyebrows going down in confusion. “You’re not going to shoot me- You don’t like shooting kids. I’m not a kid though.” He pointed out in a helpful tone, before springing to his feet in a sudden blur of movement that had my head spinning just looking at it.

Murphy- apparently expecting this, and also proving the kid right when she simply cursed and holstered he gun- threw herself at the whirling limbs, and they both went down in a tangle.

Entirely thrown and unsure of what to do, I watched as Murphy attempted to pin the kid in a judo hold, while he seemed to do his best to fight her off like some kind of wildcat, all desperate wide eyes and scratching limbs. To his credit, he seemed to be doing his best not to hurt her; More just trying to get away.

That’s when I realized the veil was gone. And that the shipping container wasn’t quite as empty as I thought.

 

“Kid, leave her be before she kicks your ass.”

 

At the sound of the low growly voice, the kid looked up, unsure, and the always goal-oriented Murphy promptly flipped him heavily, putting a knee on his back and twisting his arms up behind him. He let out a shocked _”Wha-”_

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney-“

 

“What’s an attorney?”

 

“ _If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you._ ”

 

I was distracted from the whole thing, eyes wide and tilted back at the huge figure that was currently ducking it’s head to get it’s horns clear of the lip of the container, one huge hand clapped onto his side to staunch the flow of blood coming from a blackened and nasty looking wound in his side. There were scratches all over his ribs and shoulders, as if from a giant animal, a chunk taken out of the giants forearm in the shape of a largish pair of jaws, oozing clear fluid and wine dark blood barely clotted on the ashen colored skin.

Even injured as the thing was, I felt my pulse jump in fear at the thought of fighting something so big, as it drew itself up. And up. And up.

It was male. Or, male looking, I noticed first. The second thing I noticed was the horns.

They were very noticeable. They made him a full seven and a half feet tall or so, with shoulders as wide as a city bus and hands like dinner plates. He had gray skin, almost hide-like, with black sclera on his one visible eye, and slightly pointed ears. Surrealy, he was wearing an eyepatch and belted canvas trousers that were very ren-fair, just like the kid, but not much else.  
The hands were tipped in what looked like hard, talon-like keratin, although it was trimmed neatly into human like nails. He even seemed human in the face, with a tired, drawn smile, and a crinkle around his eyes from laughing.

He wasn’t laughing now. In fact, his slightly glazed yellow eye trailed from Murphy, who was frozen on top of the kid with one cuff on his wrist, to me, my shield shimmering and mouth hanging open. He didn’t look too impressed.

 

“Hey, you’re a mage right? How good are you at healing magic?” He asked, giving a wry, blue collar guy chuckle, before his eye rolled up in his head and he fell with all the grace and immense gravitas of a redwood tree being felled.

 

I swear to god there was an echo.

 

There was silence, from me, and from Murphy, who was looking from me, to the creature, and back to me, as if waiting for my usual monologue about what sort of creature or entity this was. I’m not an expert, but I’m her supernatural consultant for a reason. I live this shit.

 

The kid gave a small, wounded sounding whimper, and suddenly I felt like a little bit of an asshole.

 

I wasn’t positive, but I think I might have my victims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #####
> 
>  
> 
> One reason why I did this part way, and gave up in a fit of rage, was it is very very hard to write about modern day technology from the point of view of a Thedosian. If anyone read that chapter in _The Light Fantastic_ -
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Anyway, this is fun to write even though I know there's probably going to be ZERO OVERLAP between fandoms. But it's filling up nanowrimo!


	3. Chapter 3

When Dorian awoke, it was in an immense amount of pain.

 

His head was throbbing, a familiar feeling from his circle years when he was a younger lad and was prone to over taxing himself. His reservoirs built up as he grew, to an impressive amount that prevented him from experiencing this particularly nasty symptom of magical exhaustion for almost a decade. However it seemed these recent month fighting Corypheus with the Inquisition had over taxed him more often and more drastically than he’d ever experienced, if this was how often he now found himself scraping his mana reserves raw and barely able to make the air flicker.

He was also moving.

When he finally deigned to open his eyes, it was to look up at a blank, terrifyingly empty sky. At first look it seemed normal, perhaps a night time sky. Which was odd, considering it was raining not a moment ago.  
And then Dorian looked again and realized it was much bigger than the sky he was used to, emptier and taller than even the vast reaches of the stars.

He got a spinning case of vertigo that was perhaps mostly a concussion, and shut his eyes tight again,trying not to groan and alert whatever creature was dragging him on his back. Probably to be eaten.

He wasn't not surprised this is the way he goes out, the way Trevelyan carries on. Bears, dragons and wyverns. An angry Bronto. Herding _druffalo._ Awful, drooling beasts that smelled like a mushroom patch and licked you as soon as you turned to cross a stream. _Why_ Cooper enjoyed the things he’d never know. He probably wasn’t inoculated to their presence like the rest of the Ferelden peasantry, and found their big brown eyes and measured, unending gait charming, rather than mind numbingly boring. Indeed, they were alarmingly nimble footed on almost sheer slopes, and seemed able to walk long after a horse had stopped from exhaustion- But did that mean he had to take them _home?_

There was a noise like knives scraping across a china plate, and Dorian carefully cracked an eye, looking down at his feet.

He caught a glimpse of a swaying gray tail, curled and waving like a spindle weed, and the large hand of an apparent ogre wrapped around his ankle. That explained the hot throbbing he was feeling jolting all the way up to his hip every time he was dragged another long step.

It didn’t have the dark curled horns of the ogres he was use to, but rather a ratty brown color of dirt, mottled black spots covering it’s shoulders. The cat was the same one he remembered, although in the light of day it’s fur darkened from a twilight gray to an almost marble black, rippled with smokey silver. He put up with the painful dragging as he took stock of his surroundings, silver grass extending up over his head and whipping his face and arms.

 

Of course he wasn’t going to put up with this much longer.

 

With quiet, careful motions hidden in the jerking motion of being dragged painfully across the ground, he slipped a hand down to his belt, unlatching his pouch. A few sticks of charcoal and some coppers rolled out from the detritus in the bottom of his bag to land amongst the strange silver grass that was coarsely scratching his bare arms. His fingers met cool smooth glass, and he paused, keeping his breathing carefully stumbling.

The walking stopped, and he heard a murmur of conversation. He didn’t stick around to find out what they were saying.

He quickly brought his hand deftly up to his mouth, downing the lyrium potion he’d hidden in his fingers. There was a brief rattling shriek of a growl as the cat caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, and the shovel sized hand around his ankle tightened to the point of a painful crack that caused him to cry out and kick out with his other foot, heel catching on one of the thing monstrously sized knuckles. It didn’t have much of an effect.

But the lightning bolt that arced down from the sky with a deafening, furious _krack-thoom,_ did.

The thing bellowed in rage, releasing his ankle and bringing a hand up to cover it’s eyes, the whole left side of the strangely humanoid creature blackened and charred with Dorian’s furiously terrified spell. It slumped slowly, and Dorian scrambled backwards from the swipe of the cat’s claws, an angry yowling like many blades all being clashed together almost deafening.

As the body landed with a whuff of misplaced air and dirt, Dorian cast a horror spell at the cat, something that he could manage even after the drain the lightning bolt sucked from him. It didn't seem to have any effect, the hazy purple wisps of mana sliding harmlessly off of the smoky fur. He attempted to gather and try an electric spell, or perhaps a sloppy unpracticed blaze of fire- but he was too late, and the cat too fast.

The cat snarled in rage, and landed on his chest with enough pressure to knock the air from his lungs, head cracking back against the ground. One paw touched his throat before he had time to struggle, tipped in deadly knife-like claws that pricked his skin uncomfortably.

“What the _kaffas_ are you?” He asked breathlessly hands carefully held up in surrender, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Don’t you know what a faerie creature is, you silly little warlock?” Rumbled the cat, a heavy deadly weight pinning him down.

 

Dorian thought quickly of Orlesian story books, of Ferelden story legends about tiny people who you could leave milk for in exchange for good luck. Every Tevinter knew it was a load of garbage; You only had to study the legend scientifically or magically for any amount of time before you came to the conclusion that it couldn’t _possibly_ be true. Demons and spirits seemed enough of a danger without adding made up fairy tales to the list, he’d always thought.

But the impossible seemed par the course for this very unpleasant no good day.

So Dorian double checked with his thumb to make sure his rings were turned silver signet out- the tevinter Chantry symbol etched in with a white hot metallurgists rod on the day of his graduation from the Circle of Minrathous- and punched the cat hard in the mouth.

 

#####

 

“You can help him.”

I looked down into the kids face, which was pretty visible now that that weird hat was rolling uselessly on the ground about five feet away.  
He looked wistfully at it, but made no moves to wrestle himself free from my grip on his arm.

“Yes. I can.”

Murphy looked up from where she was crouched at the giants side, and gave me a brief, terse nod. Her small hands were already stained with blood, pressing heavily on the wound and ignoring the pained grunt as the guy came out of whatever fugue state he’d fallen into.

“ _Shit!_ ”

 

“We need an ambulance.”

 

“Not a great idea.” I said, looking around and grimacing. “They won’t be able to do much for him- By the time they pulled their heads out of their asses, he’d probably bleed out.”

 

“Well _we_ can’t fix him.”

 

The kid in my grip seemed unconcerned, humming a few brief strains of music. Thoughtlessly, as if he wasn’t aware he was doing it, judging by the way his brow was furrowed. As if listening for something far away.

The music struck a chord.

“Butters still on vacation?” I asked, my mind already racing ahead and thinking of what we’d have to do. Murphy arched an eyebrow at me, stripping off of her jacket and making a tourniquet. She pressed it on the wound, businesslike, drawing a groan from the... Well, from the victim, probably.

“Yeah. Although he’s not back into work yet-“

“Good enough. I have his address.” I let the kid go, gently pushing and sitting him down with his arms still cuffed behind him to sit with his back to a milk crate. He scooted forward until his chin was on his knees, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of his friends chest, slow and inexorable as a felled wildebeest.

“Think one of the guys can make a call for me?” It’s not like they were doing anything else.

“If you stand far enough away.” Karrin’s hands were steady, but I could tell from the way she was throwing me looks, and the way she wasn’t looking up at her patients face, that she was a lot more thrown than I was giving her credit.

Ever since we’d had our differences aired with those werewolves, she’d grown to trust me a little more. Less likely to jump to conclusions- And what we’d gone through after with necromancers, warlocks, and faeries, had only cemented it. But she knew when I was lost, and this was clearly one of those moments.

“Don’t move.” I told the kid warningly, holding a finger up.

“I can’t tell when I’m moving. Everything else is going too fast.” He informed me, almost resentfully. His eyes flicked up briefly to give me the most sane look I’d seen from him so far, almost an eye roll. “But I won’t leave the Iron Bull.”

 

_Okaaaay…_ Good enough for me.

 

“Murph, two minutes.” I told her, and gave her one last long look, before moving at a fast pace back to where the cops were still finishing up their shop talk and coffee.

 

The whole scuffle had been overshadowed by the sounds of morning traffic, everyone on their way to work. Horns honking and the faint sound of screeches in the distance as people took the still rain-slick roads too fast, covered up any noise that might have raised alarms.

“Can you make a phone call for me?” I asked one of the guys, probably looking as disheveled and breathless as I felt. He gave me a weird look.

“Yeah. I guess, since your fingers are broken.”

I gave him a glare. “Awesome.”

 

I recited the number carefully, and he punched it in, giving me a curious look when I made sure to stand plenty clear of the delicate cell machinery. Also maybe because I was tapping one of my feet impatiently. Cops don’t like that, I’ve come to learn. “What do you want me to say?”

 

“Say it’s Harry Dresden.” I heaved a sigh. “And that we need a ride.”

 

#####

 

“Harry!” Michael said warmly when he arrived, coming up and drawing me into a bone crushing hug. He was dressed in flannel, with a suede brown looking jacket that was lined in what looked like sheepskin and rough looking work boots. He looked like a particularly handsome construction worker- The kind you might put on a calendar. I didn’t _squeak_ , but it was probably because he’d just crushed all of the air out of my body. I flapped a hand onto his shoulder.

“Michael- Good to see you.” I managed to gasp out, and he let me go, clapping his hands on my shoulders and pushing me back in that way he had, like he needed a better look at you.

 

I liked Michael. It was impossible _not_ to. Friendly, warm guy, always did the right thing, and constantly made you feel like you weren’t worthy of his affections of his loyalty, because he was just so intrinsically _good_.

Or maybe that was just me.

 

“And what did you need from me today? Besides my pickup truck.” There was a brief twinkle in his eye as he followed me back to the truck, which he had backed into an alley two over from the crime scene. "You wouldn't say on the phone- I could barely hear you."

“Honestly, back up would be nice.” I said with a wince, and gave a quick whistle to tell Murph we were on our way back. “But the pick up truck is sort of a necessity- You’ll see.”

 

The kid was hovering worriedly over Bull and Murph when we got to them, still cuffed. Mainly because I wasn’t sure if he was a wizard or not, since he seemed _incredibly_ talented and subtle at veils. And I didn’t want him suddenly deciding he didn’t like the way we were handling his friend.

He didn’t seem incredibly stable.

Most warlocks weren’t. They were more, the mad, cackling, ‘and your little dog too’ type. Another great reason to have Michael at my back, besides the whole smiting sword of goodness and purity.

He took one look at the spreading blood, and although he seemed slightly taken aback, he immediately jingled his keys, all business.

 

"I'll pull the truck up."

Sure enough, as we staggered around with- I guess his name was ‘Bull’, if the kid was to be believed, which what the hell, why _not_ -Michael let a breath whoosh out of him, and rubbed his forehead as if pained. I would have offered a further explanation, but I was slowly being crushed by what felt like a Volkswagen rabbit leaning on my shoulder. Murphy was underneath, reminding me hysterically of someone taking a christmas tree home.

“Only you Dresden.” Michael sighed, before coming forward to help get Bull into the bed of his pickup. He had to move some of his carpentry supplies out of the way first- A toolbox, some tarpaulin, and scrap wood that looked like the remains of someone’s roofing job.

 

“They don’t need horses the Iron Bull, it runs with fire.” The kid informed his half conscious friend, in an impressed tone, scaring me straight out of my boots. _Again._ Hells bells. He walked like a ghost.

“ _Christ._ ” Murph gasped, and with one last heave, we got the guy propped up on the edge of the truck. Michael climbed up and pulled him the rest of the way in, a pained groan echoing from the big barrel chest. Yeesh.

“You alright big guy?” I ventured, slapping his leg reassuringly.

“As rain.” Came the out of breath reply. He waved a hand lazily in the air, almost smacking the puffing and strained looking Michael in the face. “Cole, get up here so I can keep an eye on you.” 

The kid fluttered worriedly, hat shaking. “But you only have one, the Iron Bull. What if you need it?”

“Shit kid, just get in here.”

He climbed nimbly in, impressing me with his range of motion with both hands cuffed behind his back. He made a noise of awkward discomfort, leaning against Bull’s heavily injured side. Murphy shook her head in disbelief as Cole looked round, at a loss for what to hang onto, and instead hunkered down, resting his head against Bull’s shoulder and blinking at us. One large hand came up to pat him fondly on the head.

 

“He’s taking us to a _mortalasi_.” Cole confided to Bull. He seemed to think about this for a moment while Murph shut the bed of the truck, and I stood like an idiot, unsure of what to do next. “Dorian thinks they’re perverts.”

Bull let out a weak chuckle.

I gestured Murphy to the front of the truck, and she slid in with Michael, the two of their mouths moving silently through the window and the distant strain of conversation coming through. She looked worried, but Michael simply seemed bright eyed and fascinated. He was always a believer in miracles- He probably thought God capital ‘g’ brought him here for a reason.

How would I know if it’s true or not? After all, I’m only the guy who _dialed_ him.

 

“I’m taking you guys to a doctor. Kid needs his leg looked at, and you need… Everything. Everything looked at.” I told Bull, who seemed the most sane out of the two. “He doesn’t exactly have a medical license for this kind of thing though.” I don’t think anyone _would._

“Since I have no idea what a medical license is, I’m totally okay with that.” Bull replied. His breathing was growing more labored, and I could see a noticeable difference in the cast of his skin. He was paler, more drawn, what I could see of his legs and fingers tightening every time his oozing wound no doubt throbbed. I thought I could see bone.

 

I threw a tarp over the two of them and shut the bed, before rounding the truck to climb in and squeeze Murphy in between me and Michael in the cab.

 

It was going to be a long ride.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who would like to know context: (I'm not explaining Dragon age because it will take too goddamn long)
> 
> **Harry Dresden** \- Supernatural private investigator in Chicago who deals with special cases for the police, as well as normal PI stuff. He's part of a White Council of wizards who are very much high and mighty, and send out their Wardens (wizard police) to chop off the heads of anybody breaking the seven Laws of Magic. Which go thus;
> 
> Thou shalt not kill (using magic) Vampires and shit don't count.
> 
> Thou Shalt Not Transform Others
> 
> Thou Shalt Not Invade the Mind of Another (Sorry Cole)
> 
> Thou Shalt Not Enthrall Another
> 
> Thou Shalt Not Reach Beyond the Borders of Life (DORIAN)
> 
> Thou Shalt Not Swim Against the Currents of Time( _DORIAN_ )
> 
> Thou Shalt Not Open the Outer Gates (Lovecraftian-like gates to the universe that possibly let in the 'Others'. Probably cthulu. Guarded by the Gatekeeper ((wizard of the white council, true neutral alignment)) and also the fairy winter court. ((Chaotic neutral fairy court)) )
> 
> **Michael Carpenter** \- Fist of God, and wielder of what's probably Excalibur. All around good guy, literal carpenter, walking punchline and family man with a whole caboodle of children and constantly trying to get Harry to go to church.
> 
> **Karen Murphy** \- is his tiny kickass Sergeant who spits nails for breakfast.


End file.
